


A.G.R.A.

by sylveparker



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, johnlock - Fandom, sherlockbbc
Genre: Character Death, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary Watson - Freeform, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Other, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, SherlockBBC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveparker/pseuds/sylveparker
Summary: John Watson just found out his wife has been living a double life, and now she wants to talk. A talk with a former assassin, what could go wrong? (Warning: Major Character Death)
Relationships: John Watson/Mary Watson, Johnlock, Mycroft Holmes/Anthea, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 10





	A.G.R.A.

POV: John Watson

Oh my god.  
It was Mary.  
It’s always been Mary.  
She was the middleman who gave the pills to the cabbie.  
The assassin in the pool the first night we met Moriarty.  
She helped to orchestrate the events leading up to Sherlock’s faked suicide.  
Her gun was the one trained on me.  
She shot Sherlock in the chest.  
I drop my face into my hands, looking away from the computer screen.  
The wedding band on my finger weighs more and more with each breath I stagger through.  
Anger rises through the center of my body, burning its way through my arms and down into my hands.   
“Dammit!” I scream as my fists slam against the desk.  
I rip the A.G.R.A. memory stick from the computer, throwing it across the room in one fluid motion.  
It smacks against the wall, clattering to the floor.  
How could I be so stupid?  
Sherlock is still in the hospital, his internal bleeding far more severe than we’d expected.  
And it’s my fault.  
I brought her into our lives.  
My phone buzzes again.

If you want to talk, you know where to meet me.  
-Mary

The cemetery.  
She wants to meet me where we first met.  
Sherlock’s headstone.  
I’ll go, but not alone.  
She has to pay for what she’s done.  
I pick up my phone from the desk as I click on my least used contact.

Brompton cemetery. Now.  
-JW

Hopefully, he listens.   
I stand up, slamming the lid to my laptop shut.  
My hands tremble as I slide into my coat.  
The metal of my ring clinks against the metal doorknob as I move to open the door.  
Without a second thought, I slide the metal band off, casting it aside as I leave the flat.  
I run down the stairs, hailing a cab as I step into the street.  
“Brompton cemetery.” I breathe as I slide into the backseat.  
I don’t know if this counts as a case, but I’m glad Sherlock is far from it this time.  
He’s safe in the hospital, this time under his parent’s constant supervision.  
The sun starts to set as the cab pulls up to the cemetery.  
I haven’t been here since Sherlock came back.  
As I walk down the path I’d walked a hundred times, her blonde hair comes into view.  
She stands with her back to me, her eyes trained on Sherlock’s empty grave.  
I clear my throat as I approach.  
She turns slowly.   
“John.” She says softly, smiling as if there was nothing wrong with this situation.  
I take a deep breath, clasping my hands together.  
I’m suddenly aware how light my hand feels without the ring.  
“Why?” I ask, my voice coming out as nothing more than a breath.  
Her eyes soften around the edges as she looks at me.  
“John I never meant—”  
“How could you do this to me?” I scream, the anger in my body bubbling to the surface.  
She takes a step back, her face hardening again.  
“How could you, Mary?” I yell. “How could you approach me here at his grave, when you’re the one who drove him to it? How could you comfort me and tell me it would be alright, when you’re the one who pointed the gun at me? How could you marry me and just think, somehow, this would all just go away?”  
My hands fall limply at my sides as I gasp for air, drawing in shaky breaths.  
Soft footsteps fall behind me as Mycroft and Anthea walk across the grass to Mary and me.  
Good, he listened.   
“John, I am sorry.” She says softly.  
A choked laugh escapes my lips.  
“No.” I say, shaking my head as I look at my shoes. “You aren’t.”  
I look up at her as Mycroft and Anthea stand beside me.  
“If you were sorry, you would’ve told me before we’d gotten married.” I say, looking up at her as I wring my hands together. “You would’ve told me before I’d proposed. You wouldn’t have shot my best friend.”  
Her eyes have turned from her soft, sympathetic green eyes, to a dark and twisted grimace upon seeing Mycroft and Anthea.  
“Oh, John.” She says, her smile contorting her face into a wicked grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”  
Her right arm extends, and a handgun points directly at me.   
I step backwards, my blood running cold as I reach around to my waistband.  
“Hands up or I shoot.” Mary says, her voice cold and disconnected.  
Reluctantly, I raise my hands.  
“Both of you, hands up too.” She says, waving the gun towards Mycroft and Anthea.  
They slowly raise their hands too.  
The gun returns to me, pointing at my chest.  
“You’ve brought them here to arrest me, right?” She asks, stepping towards me.  
I don’t answer.  
“Oh, John.” She says, her smile twisting even further. “I can’t be arrested. I can’t be caught.”  
Her finger slides along the gun, flipping the safety off.  
“Sorry husband, dear.” She says. “This is goodbye.”  
Everything happens fast, far too fast.  
Two shots are fired.  
I’m forced aside, and I hit the ground the same time that Mary does.  
Anthea stands behind me, her hands still wrapped around her gun, still pointing at Mary.  
Mary’s wide eyes stare at me, unseeing, as blood pours out of the perfectly round hole on her forehead.   
But my attention is quickly drawn away from her as my eyes fall on Mycroft.  
He lays on the ground where I was standing, his hands clamped hard against his chest as he breathes shaky breaths.  
“Oh my god.” I breathe, crawling over to him quickly.   
I push his sticky, blood-soaked hands aside, pressing my own hands over the hole in his chest.  
His white shirt is already stained in the dark red blood, and I feel the blood spurting in time with his pulse under my palms.  
I know it’s too late when I look at his face, grey and sunken already.  
“Dammit Mycroft.” I frantically whisper, pressing harder into his chest as Anthea calls for help. “Why?! Why would you do that?”  
He looks at me as he pants, fighting for breath.  
“Oh John.” He says, forcing a smile up at me. “He needs you more than he needs me.”  
He smiles at me again, more genuine than before.  
I force myself to smile back, knowing it’s almost over, wanting him to see a familiar smile as he goes out.  
I pull in a shaky breath.  
“He loves you, you know.” I whisper, my voice thick with tears.  
He nods, closing his eyes.  
His chest rises and falls once more, and then he’s gone.  
I look up at Anthea as she falls to her knees beside his head.  
Tears streak down her face as she brushes her fingertips against his cheek.  
I pull my hands away from his chest, wiping his still warm blood on the legs of my jeans.   
Slowly, after a couple moments, I move to my feet.  
The world spins lightly, but I swallow hard and walk over to Anthea.  
I reach my hand down to her, and she looks up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes.   
She nods at me once before pressing her lips to her fingertips and pressing her fingertips against Mycroft’s forehead.  
She takes my hand and lets me pull her to her feet.  
I shrug out of my jacket, and gently lay it across Mycroft’s face and chest, covering the blood.  
“He would hate anyone to see him like this.” I say, clearing my throat.   
Anthea sniffles and nods in agreement.  
She pulls her shawl off, handing it to me as she nods in Mary’s direction.  
I take it, slowly walking towards her.  
My shoes slip in the pool of blood as I lean down near her head.  
I gently slide my fingertips across her eyelids, closing them forever.  
“Goodbye Mary.” I whisper as tears drip from my eyes.  
I drape Anthea’s shawl over her face, hiding it from view.  
I stand, walking back over to Anthea.  
She meets my eyes for a moment before sobs rack her body.  
I reach out, hugging her close to me as we both sob for what we’ve lost.  
My mind goes to Sherlock.  
I’m going to have to be the one to tell him.  
And his parents.  
They’ll be heartbroken, but Sherlock will be destroyed.  
Anthea and I don’t break away until the red and blue lights of the police cars pull into the cemetery.  
We pull away as the police run onto the grass.  
We tell them what happened in a daze, and as I turn to gesture to Mary, I notice the stone behind her for the first time.  
Where it usually reads Sherlock Holmes, her blood has splattered against his first name, leaving only Holmes behind.  
My eyes fall to Mycroft as I tell them how he saved my life.  
They load him onto the stretcher, covering him with the customary black body bag.   
Anthea and I follow him with our eyes, bidding him our silent goodbyes.  
Moments later, we do the same with Mary.   
Finally, we’re alone in the graveyard with only each other and Lestrade.   
“Can I drive you anywhere?” He asks softly, looking between us.  
Anthea shakes her head, putting her hand on my shoulder as she walks past me to the black car she called to take her home.  
“Bart’s.” I tell Greg, turning to walk towards his cruiser. “I need to see Sherlock.”  
He just nods, walking beside me silently all the way to the car.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment! :)


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